For her they will fall
Beg, kneel or crawl
Despite all the trouble she’d bring them
She serves wine at the table
That she chose by the label
And shares with anyone who’ll listen
Like birds to the birch
They hang on every word
And write themselves into her stories
But there’s a pain in her eyes
I either put there or tried
To blame on another before me
There’s a life that she chose
And it used to seem close
But it runs from her quicker than water
And in rooms late at night
She’s promised a good time
But she lets go of the hands put before her
And in a book she carries around
There are corners turned down
Of the pages which tell of her story
And she speaks of her plans
But I hear in the gaps
The voice from another before me
Through the fog and cold
A train pulls in slow
And creeps into the dark of the morning
And in a bag she holds tight
With her initials on the side
There are notes from another before me
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